


The Convention - In Misha’s Room (Day 5: Kissing)

by drownedinblissfulconfusion (tundraeternal)



Series: The Convention [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Conventions, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/pseuds/drownedinblissfulconfusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-Day OTP Challenge</p><p>A succession of Cockles ficlets, set at a fictional convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convention - In Misha’s Room (Day 5: Kissing)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not personally know any of the people I'm writing about. As far as I'm concerned, these are fictional characters in some alternate universe, which exists someplace between our own and the French Drop universe, who happen to bear superficial resemblance to our boys (and girls). Their conversations, personalities, and innermost thoughts are generally extrapolated from plausible reality, occasionally made up from whole cloth.

The wine has Jensen relaxed and laughing. He sips and savors as he watches Misha telling him some ridiculous story. It’s so good to be alone with him. No interruptions, no false personas, no creepy stalker fans hiding around corners and reading too much into his every gesture. He’s safe here. Safe to let his gaze linger on Misha’s mouth or the fan of lines at the corners of his eyes. Safe to drop his guard and let his smile warm his eyes, so that Misha stops mid-sentence and falls quiet, smiles back. 

“You know you’re incredible, right?” He sounds like such a sap, but he feels light and floating, and he doesn’t care how he comes across; he just wants to speak his mind. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that rumor going around.” Misha reaches for Jensen’s hand and skims a thumb over his knuckles. “You know you’re a huge cheeseball, right?”

Jensen throws back his head and laughs. “I can’t help it. I’m happy.”

“Hey now, I never said cheesy was bad! You’re beautiful when you’re happy.”

“Shut your mouth! I’m manly as hell.” 

“Beautifully manly.” 

They sit for a minute, holding hands and grinning like idiots at each other across the table, until Misha breaks the contact and rises from his seat. He hooks a finger into the collar of Jensen’s shirt, and Jensen follows his cue and stands. Misha takes Jensen’s hand, and locks their gazes as he brings Jensen’s fingers to his lips. 

Jensen feels his warm and tipsy contentment coalesce into a sharper exhilaration, centered bright and hot in his belly. 

“This feels familiar,” Jensen breathes. “I can’t believe you kissed my hand yesterday. In the middle of our panel.” 

“Mmm, but that was just foreplay, to get you thinking. Now that we have some privacy, I can show you what comes next.” He moves into Jensen, presses a kiss to the hollow beneath his jaw.

“Foreplay?! Right. On stage in front of two thousand people. You’re crazy. Do you know what a mess I was after that?”

"I was counting on that." Misha scrapes his teeth over Jensen’s neck, making him shiver. “I need you to stop talking now.” 

Jensen complies. He tilts his head down and meets Misha’s mouth with his own in a careful kiss. They slide against each other, shifting positions to find their fit; hands growing bolder and lips less delicate. Misha’s tongue slipping into his mouth makes Jensen’s knees go weak, and only Misha’s hands gripping his ass keep him from stumbling. 

They kiss like they’ve been wanting it forever. 

Jensen slides his hands down Misha's back, seeking the hem of his t-shirt. He gets a grip on it, and pulls back just long enough to strip it off. Misha reciprocates, and they crash together again, chest to chest, their skin damp with sweat. Jensen digs his fingers into the firm flesh of Misha’s back, kneading with the rhythm of their kisses. He groans into Misha’s mouth as Misha dips his hand into Jensen’s back pocket and scratches nails up his ass, rough through the layer of denim. 

A noise outside in the hall reminds Jensen that they’re not alone in the world. “Shit, man, how much time have we got?”

“Not enough for everything I want to do to you,” Misha mouths into Jensen’s throat. But he shows no inclination to break apart until the noises become voices and there’s a knock at the door. 

“Misha?” It sounds like Calvin, one of the con heads. “I hate to interrupt your dinner, but we’ve got to push up your photo op. You about ready?”

They scramble to pull their shirts back on, and Misha pulls Jensen to him for a last kiss, then smacks him on the ass. “We’ll pick this back up after the party tonight.”

“Damn right we will.” Jensen grins. Until then, he’s going to drive Misha as crazy as possible.


End file.
